Afloat

Bold seafarers dream
as wind-waves dance together.
Moonlight adds magic.

Interpretation of original photo by R D Stainforth, for The Mag 233

Dream Time

Angel wings? Or Batman's cloak?
Which of these your muse invoke?
Will you escape the fires of hell
as Sunday's Magpie rings your bell
and sets your mind to lateral thinking
when you really have no inkling
as to where its lines may lead?
Will you write a full blown screed,
or will you do verbal gymnastics
and pen a poem? How fantastic!
I wish you joy - and come what may -
have fun with Tess this august day
of August as you scratch your head
and think 'I wish I'd stayed in bed!
This artwork is a Dream Time tale
but clever words seem set to fail
for who can catch a waking dream
when all is not quite as it seems?!'

Thanks to Tess and the image by Keith Haring at The Mag, from which I used a detail to create my accompanying effort. :-)

Reversed Reality

People's living ghosts
admire a gleaming image
of Nefertiti,
legendary immortal -
thanks to ancient history.

Uncanny image thanks to Tess and her Mag 230

Family Portrait

As a family portrait, the work left much to be desired.

But now he was full grown, the son seemed to hear his mother's playing every time he stood before the painting. 

He'd remember the time he'd been standing by her at the piano, the time when he'd noticed his father turn and walk away.

 Since then, nothing had ever been the same.


Written for the Mag 229, where Tess gave us an image of quite another persuasion...but which I translated into something else....
I hope you get the picture. :-)

Architectural Illusion

The painting was huge.
Once unveiled, the scale of it
could fool the senses
into believing they saw
a steel and concrete town-scape;
dark-glass reflections
creating strange images
of alien things
hovering just out of sight
behind a wire forest.

Written for Mag 228, with thanks to Tess and the un-named photographer.

P.S. Though it may look like random line breaks, I've actually used two of the Tanka, five line, 5/7/5/7/7 syllable count.

Shuffle & Deal

Thanks to Tess at Mag 226 with her prompt image by Meredith Frampton, entitled A Game of Patience, 1937

Dreaming?

Have you heard of Charlie Dimmock? She's the water feature Queen
of TV gardening programmes, which you've probably not seen,
but you'd recognise the gardens in which she's reigned supreme.

There's always lots of water gushing from a spout
or shooting up into the air, or winding in and out
along a crafty water course which gravity can't flout.

Charlie's tanned and winsome, with a head of wayward curls
which she allows to wander free - not like other girls
who tie their locks atop their heads, or wind them round in whorls.

But when she did my garden, there were no less than four
of the water-spitting lion heads - I couldn't ask for more -
as they played their water music in the pool outside my door!

(In all honesty, I can only dream of Ms Dimmock doing a makeover in my sad, slabbed patio - but what are Mags for, if not to dream?!)

Thanks to the artist John William Waterhouse  and Tess, from whose Mag 225 this detail was taken.

And if anyone would like to see how to earn a gold star, pop over here 

Headline News

Shadow beings lie within us, waiting
to make their presence felt; to bend the truth
till our conscious minds are set in turmoil
by unaccustomed promptings of temptation.
We feel the warmth of all their whispered goads
which hold us, teetering on wisdom's brink,
ready to misread a situation;
to falter in our stride and lose the way...

It's then we have to choose to take control,
to push our finer instincts to the fore -
ignoring what might be the easy choice -
and strive, however hard, to do what's right,
with no regret, no thought of recompense
except a well earned sense of justice done.

Oh, Tess! I've decided to re-post an edited version of the illustration and poem I did first time around. Full marks to anyone who spots the changes to Mag 224 and apologies to Rene Magritte...LOL

Rewind

Sometimes a  switch will flick and it sends
you into overdrive; I recognise the
warning signs of a mechanism which
has lost control, as needles oscillate
and register maximum overload.

Unplug wires; reverse polarity
until currents flow unhindered again,
and a temporary peace is achieved.

But still you'll wind me up and reel me in,
with no thought of my deflated spinning
mind, or damaged resolutions inside
my bruised components as the tape replays
an old story, instead of recording
a better history for the future.

Written for Tess and The Mag 223,  
and linked to IGWRT'S Open Link Monday

Artists come in many forms...

Image by courtesy of Hilary at The Smitten Image

            Light weaves tapestries
            to hang as a canopy
            above our bowed heads,
            as we honour the artist
            who created such beauty.

High Fliers

Has your chick fledged?

Teetered on the nest edge,
flapped wings, and flown
before he was full grown?

Perhaps he only fluttered to the ground,
down, down, down...
as you watched his fall,
wanting to call
'Take care!
Remember the air
may be friend, or foe
if you go
too close to the Sun,
Son,
and like Icarus, defy
the ruler of the sky.'

But though high fliers may rise
in search of some glittering prize,
we could never choose
to loose
our concern
that they won't burn...

Without  hatchlings, a nest
looks empty. Best
fill it with a new lining;
forget  pining,
for soon a new brood will come to visit.
Exquisite!

And it so happened, this fitted Wednesday's Toad prompt, too!

The Smile

The dog nudged his nose against the woman's arm, hoping she would feed him scraps from her plate, but she was far too excited at seeing who had come to sit opposite her, to notice this silent begging.
The lackluster day transformed into a Technicolor afternoon, forcing her to smile in recognition of the improvement.

 
Thanks to Tess and Edward Hopper for coming together in the Mag 220, from which this detail took flight. Come Friday, it will be linked to G-Man, too, as it happens to have exactly 55 words! What luck. :-)

Early Bird?

Photographer Unknown

Today, I spotted a Sepia Saturday post, ready for 17 May, and as its subject matter has always been close to my heart, here's my seaside poem, accompanied by a detail from a photo which appeared on Google Images , but without acknowledging the one who clicked the shutter. I thank them, whoever they were.

Sea Edge

In creeps the water,
tickling my toes,
swirling its whirlpools.
But nobody knows
where the sea comes from
or where it all goes.

Was it in China,
or distant Japan
that this pool of ocean’s
blue ripples began?
How many more miles
will they have to span?

How far have they travelled
and how many waves
crashed onto shorelines
or hid inside caves
before they arrived here,
so buoyant and brave?

On Stage

The Play’s The Thing

A sudden shutter clicks and doorways open.
Sunlight lays its hands upon my head
and energy cascades about my form.
It brings a scene shift on the stage of life
and I, as actor, need a different script
to follow.  Playwright, do you heed my words?
The backdrop changes daily. I have learned
that standing in the wings is not enough.
It's time to enter right and play my part.

See IGWRT's  Open Link Monday

Explanation

A replica will not be found in any book...
Look for a dog with big ears, and perhaps,
chaps, you will see what I see.
Heehee! No, not three, but two eyes... and his nose
goes according to plan. Man! He's ugly, though,
so be kind.
Find one small thing to inspire,
fire your imagination. Perhaps his long(ue ?)
tongue (hung left) is panting,
wanting water, or a friend to lick.
Quick!

Who will come to his rescue? Will you, Tess? For it is your Mag 218 which caused his creation thanks to Salvador Dali's equally strange image :-)

At The Going Down Of The Sun

Original Image by Penny Smith

Stillness spreads
over the landscape
as evening
stands poised on the horizon
   of another day.

An edit of something I wrote earlier, updated and posted for Poetry Jam.

Prepare Yourself

Pull up a side table equipped with snack, thermos and mug;
plug in the computer and prepare to feed the muse.
Use words floating in the air
where many books have left reading sessions'
impressions on the room's ambiance.
Dalliance with famous writer's ideas
appears to make our own, grow.
So devour the library from 'aye' to 'zee'.
See? Home comforts will
still be on offer to provide some
fun, as you can (between each scribble)
nibble on another toothsome,
winsome, chocolate coated digestive -
festive fare with style. 
Smile!!

Written for Tess at The Mag 217

Suitcase

Similar image found on eBay

Pack my life in a suitcase,
like one I had as a child,
with brown cardboard corners
rubbed grey and tin handle rattling,
as it lollops side to side
between silver  flip-clips
which open to display
a retro paper lining...

In first, goes a layer of war-torn sounds
to cower in corners.
Cover them with school uniforms
and scatter primrose memories
of picnics in the woods.

Layer paintings from college
with tears from teen dramas, until
confetti and a wedding veil shroud them
in mists of time, and baby powder scent
sends kisses and cuddles whirling
in ever growing spirals towards adulthood.

Tissue paper days of work and ageing,
of living, of loving, of life itself,
sandwich together as I press down
the lid to preserve my memories.

Margaret at IGWRT's set me off on a strange tack today, with her talk of asylums and artistic impressions...I hope my padded cell is ready?!

 “Write a poem that is full of personal emotion, sentiment, longing, confusion… wherever your mind takes you.”

This was a sentence near the end of the diatribe that I chose to focus on, as the rest was too depressing for words, and the mention of all the suitcases left behind did the rest…

There's No Accounting...

...for the way a prompt can lead the mind into lateral thinking. As I saw a Poetry Jam post on my long deserted reading list, and noticed the word 'Deserts', my initial reaction was to flip to 'desserts' an often mis-spelt, dictionary neighbour, but then two words took its place - arid desert. Is that tautology, I wonder? Nevertheless, it reminded me of a sad little poem I'd written in the days of my youth, which I decided to resurrect in the hope that some Poetry Jam sweetness might result, thereby  adding to its flavour. Not all deserts are sandy!

Apparition

Do I create you
from my own wishes
when suddenly you appear
at unexpected times?
I know when you're nearby.
Unbidden, my mind creates
a vacuum of suspense
and your form rushes
to fill the void
and breathe new life
into my existing  being.

Nothing can parallel
the surge of joy
that such chance meeting brings.
Love’s blossom blooms
in the arid desert of a day
till then without you
and my very soul takes wing.

P.S. Perhaps I should change the title to 'Mirage'?!

Easter Monday

Yellow-green gold, Euonymus leaves shine,
basking in their own beauty. Day uncurls
towards noon and flowers unfurl petals,
yawning, blinking into startled life. Birds
serenade Spring, composing symphonies
no pen could capture within black barred lines
of manuscript, perches only for notes
which can never be caged. And Easter-time
echos a message of hope around the world.


Written for IGWRT's Open Link Monday, this bright morning.